


This Moment

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Season 2, kind of, quentins brain hates him, someone does die but its barely mentioned and happens before the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Something changes when they’re together. In the air, in the world - in Quentin. Before they figured out how to get magic back, there’d been a point where he convinced himself Eliot was the magic. The absence of magic, and the absence of Eliot somehow held the same weight over his heart, now that he didn’t have grief over Alice clouding everything. Eliot is a part of what made Brakebills what it is, magic or not. And living there for five months without Eliot, learning magic they couldn’t practice -It made Quentin realize a few things.





	This Moment

Quentin and the others have been back all of five minutes before he’s storming through the castle doors and making his way through the halls to Eliot’s chambers. Margo’s fine, Josh is somehow fine, Finn is fine, the fairies are dead, and magic’s back. The only thing missing is Eliot. 

He hadn’t even bothered excusing himself from the others when he realized Eliot wasn’t with them. Though Margo had eyed him for a moment as he walked past her, before turning to the others and asking what the hell had happened. 

When he gets there, the bedroom door is open. Quentin see’s Eliot’s shadow first, until he steps into the room and stops, his heart beating so fast he worries for a moment that it might pop right out of his chest. He’s staring out the window, back facing the doorway. His hair is longer than Quentin ever thought Eliot would allow it to grow. But it’s definitely him. Quentin can feel it in the air between them. Even in Eliot’s obliviousness to his arrival. 

Something changes when they’re together. In the air, in the world - in Quentin. Before they figured out how to get magic back, there’d been a point where he convinced himself Eliot was the magic. The absence of magic, and the absence of Eliot somehow held the same weight over his heart, now that he didn’t have grief over Alice clouding everything. Eliot is a part of what made Brakebills what it is, magic or not. And living there for five months without Eliot, learning magic they couldn’t practice - 

It made Quentin realize a few things.

And, of course, he wants to say all of these things. They’re flurrying around in his stomach, twisting and turning in a nervous pitter patter of butterflies that he’s never experienced outside of when he first saw Eliot sitting on the Brakebills entrance. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and he takes another step into the room. 

Breathless, the words tumble from his lips: “I love you.”

And, okay. That is the jist of it - but that is absolutely not what he wanted to start with. Five months apart - who knows how long it’s been in Fillory - and a world away, and somehow his brain jumps to the conclusion of _oh, let’s start with the end. Because that’s how these things work._

Eliot’s shoulders tense, and Quentin know’s he’s made a mistake because his brain is fucking stupid. But then Eliot’s turning, his movement slow and stuttering, one hand held on the window sill. His mouth falls open, and his brows furrow. He licks his lip, adams apple bobbing as he swallows down some air. The hand on the window sill falls to his side and he blinks a few times. His chest rises and falls, until he finally says, “Q?”

Quentin’s eyes fall shut, because it’s been so long since he’s heard his voice, and it reverberates through his spine, sending chills down his back. When he opens them again, it’s only been a few seconds, but his lashes feel wet, and his cheeks are warm and he’s nodding slow and careful. “It’s me,” He whispers, pausing to clear his throat. “I - I’m here.” 

Eyes glazing over, Eliot takes a careful step closer to him, eyeing him like he’s not quite sure this is real. “I - is this the fairies?” He asks, “Are you just the  fucking fairies just trying to torture me again?” The words spill out, angry and broken, but he’s still moving closer, one step at a time. 

 “We - well. Julia. Killed the fairy queen,” Quentin answers, feeling something angry swell at the pit of his stomach at the idea of them torturing Eliot, “This is real, El. I’m here. We’re all here.” Everyone except Alice. 

Eliot stops. He’s shaking, but his eyes focus in on Quentin. “You look so real,” He murmurs. “Either you are or I’ve finally lost my mind.” 

Quentin sniffs, reaching up to swipe at the tears hanging onto his eyelashes. He looks up at the ceiling for a second, before making a face and nodding to himself. “Maybe a little bit of both,” He says, letting his gaze fall back on Eliot. 

And then Eliot’s striding across the room in three steps until he’s standing right in front of Quentin and reaching up to grab his face. His hands are cold and coarse on Quentin’s cheeks, but it’s a welcome touch. Strange and yet so familiar. He can feel the stinging cold of the Eliot’s rings on his cheekbones, and the soft cool of his fingers extending up over his temples and into his hairline. 

He looks into Quentin’s eyes, like he’s searching for something, and then his breath hitches, and he seems to stop searching, because then his hands are sliding down until they’re just gently cupping Quentin’s jaw. “You’re real,” He breathes. His thumb strokes over the damp skin of Quentin’s cheeks. “You’re _real_.” 

Quentin chin trembles as he reaches up and wraps his hands around Eliot’s wrists and nods, leaning into the cool touch of his hands and closing his eyes. “So are you.” 

They stand there for a few moments. Eliot’s hands start to warm, and Quentin’s heartbeat grows steadily more erratic as it comes to term with the fact that they’re both here, together, alive and well. Traumatized, but alive. But then he opens his eyes, and Eliot’s still staring down at him, his thumb still stroking even and soft across Quentin’s cheekbone. His gaze is soft and kind, and almost like he’s reliving something. 

Quentin expects to be the first one to speak, but he can’t seem to find the words. He’s desperately searching for the right thing to say, so scared to blurt out the wrong thing, when Eliot says, “You killed the fairy queen. And brought back magic. And saved everyone.” 

“Well,” Quentin shrugs, “I mean. Not in that order. And not by myself. I mostly just read books on magic, and Julia did the heavy lifting.” 

“You killed a god.” 

“Yeah … but that’s what put us in this whole mess in the first place. So, not a huge win.” 

“You’re alive.” 

Quentin nods, “Of course I am.” 

Eliot shakes his head, tongue peeking out to lick at his lips again. They’re chapped and red, like Eliot’s been chewing on them. “I saw you die,” He whispers, fingertips digging gently into Quentin’s skin. 

“I -,” He stops, unsure of how to respond. 

Leaning down, Eliot rests his forehead against Quentin’s and closes his eyes. “They still had magic. Little illusion they liked to play.” 

Of course they did. Because the fairies are - were, actually - fucking assholes. Of course they chose to spend their time mentally torturing Eliot. Jesus Christ, Quentin never should have left. He couldn’t have known what would happen - as Julia and Kady have repeatedly told him - but it’s still a heavy cross to bear. Being the reason behind Eliot’s pain - again. 

“Eliot -,” 

“It’s not important,” Eliot says, opening his eyes again, and smiling halfheartedly. “You’re here. You’re real. The bitch is dead.” He pauses, pulling away and swallowing. “Did you say you love me?” 

Quentins eyes go wide, because somehow he’d expected that comment to go unexplored. Hoped that one of the gods wasnt a useless dick and would give him the opportunity to give the whole ‘hey I realized I’m in love with you while the world exploded all around us surprise’ speech another shot.

Obviously not. Because every single god fucking sucks. He makes a mental note to send a prayer out telling them all to go fuck themselves. 

“I - I mean.” He pulls away, unraveling himself from Eliot and wobbles his head, “I did. But I had - there’s a lot,” He looks at Eliot pointedly, “I mean. Yeah - that’s. That’s the jist of it. Surprise. But. It’s not, like. All of it. There’s a whole speech that I haven’t totally, completely, uhm. Figured out the order of. And then I saw you and my brain betrayed me.” He nods, more to himself, because this is absolutely going worse than he’d planned, but definitely one of the better alternatives he’d predicted happening when it came time for this.  “But, yes. You. Me. I. Love … you.” 

He smiles, awkward and not at all comfortable because Eliot clearly missed him, but he’s looking at him with a weird expression and all Quentin can think is somebodies about to press that big red PANIC button inside his head. 

Eliot blinks, and that somebody that’s about to press the big red panic button is definitely Quentin, but then that small, secretive smile washes over Eliot’s lips and Quentin’s breath hitches because, fuck. He’s missed Eliot’s face.

“Yeah,” Eliot murmurs, closing the space between them again, his hands coming out to lace his fingers through Quentin’s, slow and cautious like he’s both scared of frightening Quentin off, and of this still being a mirage that’ll fade if they make contact again. “You have to be real,” He swallows, shaking his head, “The fairies could never pull off the level of utter failure your existence is.” 

It takes a moment for the words the register, and when they do, Quentin frowns. “I -,” 

“It’s okay, Q,” Eliot interrupts, smiling, and it’s warming even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, because god, they’re all going to have so much shit to work through before any of them can smile at least somewhat full and open again. “You go so long without a persons ridiculous rambling, and somehow it’s like a breath of fresh air when you get it back.” 

“Yeah?” 

Eliot nods, chuckling soft, “Yes, Q. I missed you.” He tilts his head, “And your rambling. Though that part may fade. Can’t guarantee it won’t.” 

“You love my rambling.” 

Eliot rolls his eyes, looking up to the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head and making a face. “No,” he says, and that big red panic button goes flashing through Quentin’s mind again, “But I do love you.” 

It takes a moment for the panic to pass and the words to settle, but once they do, he jerks his head up, furrowing his brow, because honestly, in every scenario he worked up in his head - of which there are thousands because his brain hates him - Eliot rejected him. In some because he’d abandoned him, and Eliot wanted nothing to do with him. In others because he blamed him for the world falling apart. Every bad outcome he could think up, he did.

He just hadn’t prepared himself for a good outcome. The closest he’d gotten was ELIOTS ALIVE, and then everything fell apart from there. Because the way their lives have been going, he just couldn’t see happiness or - or anything _good_ in his future. 

Maybe it was just the guilt eating him alive. 

Okay, yeah. It was definitely the guilt. 

“You do?”

One of Eliot’s eyebrows perks up high. “Like there was ever a question as to whether or not I love you? God,” He shakes his head, closing his eyes and sighing. “Quentin Coldwater you are the most oblivious idiot I’ve ever met.” Before Quentin can reply, Eliot opens his eyes again and smiles, “But god am I glad I met you.” 

“Even though I’m the reason -,”

“Stop.” He squeezes Quentin’s hands. “This is a reunion. Don’t ruin it with guilt. Guilt and trauma are reserved for when we settle and think we’re happy. Then we get to let it run rampant and fuck up our lives. Right now we leave that shit behind and we do something we don’t allow ourselves to do.” 

“What?” 

He smiles, “We take five god damned minutes to be happy. Becuase you’re real, I’m real, we’re alive. That drama queen bitch is dead. Magic is back. And -,” He stops, narrowing his eyes. 

“And what?” 

“And,” He leans down, a breath away from Quentin’s lips. The words ghost over his skin, “I’m going to kiss you.” Quentin’s eyes fall closed, but when nothing happens, he opens them, frowning. “Or we can stand here and be pathetic sacks of angst. Your choice.” He says it soft and careful, the sound vibrating against Quentin’s skull. 

Quentin swallows, “I think,” He pushes forward just enough that his lips graze Eliot’s as he speaks, “Kissing might be best.” 

“Hmm,” Eliot hums, “He has some common sense after all.” And then he’s closing the distance, and his lips are warm and soft and chapped all at once. He unwinds one of his hands from Quentins, and then it’s weaving itself into Quentin’s hair, tugging softly as Quentin’s hand finds Eliot’s waist. 

The world still sucks. And they’re going to have to deal with everything because life sucks and trauma’s don’t just disappear, and there is the whole pesky guilt and angst thing working against not just them, but all of their friends.

But they’ve got this moment. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think <3


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